Suns of the Forgotten Gate

The Spiral Beneath Her Skin

Night fell without warning.

One moment, the forest glowed with golden dusk. The next, darkness.

Mirella curled against a bed of ash and moss, shivering though the air was warm. Ayinla sat beside her, watching the faint pulsing glow beneath her collarbone.

"Has it changed?" she whispered.

He nodded. "It's not just light anymore. It's… turning."

She lifted her shirt slightly and saw it—a spiral of flame etched under her skin, like a brand made from memory and heat. No scar. No burn. Just the truth, embedded.

Efua crouched beside her. "That's the seed."

"What seed?"

"The Hollow Name left it behind. When you refused his name, he gave you something else. A second chance. But it's dangerous. If that spiral turns too far, you won't be you anymore."

Mirella looked down at her hands. "Then who will I be?"

Efua didn't answer.

The Council's Remnant

The air thickened at dawn.

The scent of cedar and burned honey swept through the clearing. Then the sound—a bell with no source, deep and impossible.

From the trees emerged a figure.

She was tall and veiled, wrapped in feathers and firelight. Her face bore no mouth, only a woven golden mask. Her right hand held a staff of air, and her left—missing entirely—was replaced by floating threads of memory.

Efua stepped back in reverence.

"A Custodian of the Council of Silence," she whispered.

The being bowed.

"I am Tualé, remnant of the Fifth Veil. I speak for what was erased."

No one spoke.

"You have broken the first seal. Balanced the Archive. Spoken the Feather Tongue. You are now bound to the flame spiral."

She turned to Mirella.

"You are the torchbearer."

Mirella felt something shift in her chest.

Not fear.

Weight.

The Twin Flame Prophecy

Tualé lifted her staff, and above them, the air shimmered into shape—a ring of text, written in Feather Tongue and burning slowly in midair.

Efua began to read aloud:

"When two flames are lit by opposite names,

And wings fold over the open sky,

The world will tilt—not toward ruin,

But toward the truth it refused."

She paused.

"It's a dual prophecy," she murmured. "One flame is Mirella… the other is…"

A crack of sound interrupted her thought.

A tear opened in the air.

And out stepped the Other Walker again.

The Mirror's Choice

This time he didn't speak.

He extended his hand to Ayinla.

In his palm: a key of spiraling crystal, veined with lightning and sound.

Ayinla felt it before he touched it—ancestral recognition. This was Custodian-made, code-forged in the cradle of the Veil itself.

"What is this?" he asked.

The Other Walker's voice split again—forward and backward:

"The next gate. Yours to open. Or destroy."

Efua's eyes widened. "That's a decision key. It forces a fracture. One timeline survives. One dies."

Ayinla hesitated.

And the world around them held its breath.

The Path Divides

Tualé's voice rang like a chord:

"This is the cost of choosing truth. Not who is right. But what must be remembered."

The Flame That Hungers

The spiral beneath Mirella's skin throbbed as if sensing the presence of the key in Ayinla's palm.

She clutched her chest, falling to her knees, gasping.

It wasn't pain. It was pressure—the weight of fire remembering its shape.

Efua was at her side in seconds.

"It's awakening faster than I expected."

"Make it stop," Mirella whispered.

"I can't. Only you can."

Mirella shook her head. "What happens if I let it fully awaken?"

Efua looked to the sky, then to Tualé.

Tualé answered:

"You will become a living gate."

Ayinla stepped closer, gripping the decision key tighter. "What does that mean?"

"You will hold open the veil… or close it forever. But your self will not survive untouched."

The Key's Futures

Ayinla lifted the key.

It pulsed once. Then it projected two futures, etched in sound and color midair.

Future One:

• The next gate is opened using Mirella's spiral.

• Earth fractures—but slowly, giving the Custodians time to stabilize.

• Mirella becomes immortal—but not human. She loses her name.

Future Two:

• The gate is destroyed.

• Earth remains whole, but time collapses inward.

• Custodians vanish permanently.

• Ayinla dies.

He dropped his arm.

"I have to choose between her humanity and my life."

Efua whispered, "No. Between who remembers the world… and who protects it."

The Feather That Burns

That night, Mirella took the old bone feather from Efua's satchel and held it over the fire.

It didn't melt.

It sang.

She placed it against her spiral, and the song harmonized.

A memory surfaced—not hers:

• A young woman, with Mirella's eyes, dancing through fire on a mountain while the Custodians watched from the clouds. Her name was Ana Ọmọ Irin.

"You are the returning one," a voice said in the vision.

"You sealed it once. You must choose again."

Mirella awoke.

The feather had crumbled to ash.

The spiral no longer pulsed.

It now glowed.

The Corrupted One

Just before dawn, the forest screamed.

It didn't howl.

It screamed—long and low and wrong.

Tualé turned sharply. "He is here."

From the trees emerged a massive shape—ten feet tall, robed in tattered wings, its eyes weeping black smoke.

"The one who betrayed the Council," Efua whispered. "The Flame Eater."

The corrupted Custodian.

Once a winged protector. Now a vessel of erased timelines.

It stepped toward Mirella.

"You carry what was never meant to return," it rasped.

Ayinla threw the decision key—activating its seal, casting a shockwave of sound into the ground.

It slowed the being.

But didn't stop it.

Efua's Sacrifice

Efua turned to Mirella and Ayinla.

"Go. You're the flame. He's the key."

Ayinla reached for her. "Don't—"

But she was already stepping forward, arms raised, whispering in Feather Tongue.

Her voice filled the clearing.

Memory bloomed like fireflies.

Then she burned—not in pain, but in radiant light.

The Flame Eater screamed, blinded.

And as the world cracked around them, Mirella ran.

Ayinla followed.

And Efua disappeared in ash and song.

Ayinla looked at Mirella.

She looked at him.

And the spiral under her skin turned once more.